


Sandviches

by Gipsy_Danger



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Meet the Sandvich, Minor carnage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gipsy_Danger/pseuds/Gipsy_Danger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The value of a Medigun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandviches

The air smells like intestines and electricity, charged with the echoes of bullets and desperate, primal screaming. There’s laughter too, a hyena-sharp cackle of ecstatic insanity punctuating sparking weapons and invulnerable skin.

The place is a slaughterhouse.

Heavy drops his minigun gently atop a bullet-riddled Pyro, one massive fist wiping the sweat from his brow as he marvels at the carnage. His heart is pounding a still-crackling staccato, muscles burning, but a single twitch of his smallest finger is all that betrays his exhaustion. Medic looks up from toeing a detached arm, taking in the Russian’s wilting posture, and unslings the Medigun, taking a seat on the back of a fallen Demoman. He crooks a finger towards Heavy, indicating the ground in front of him. The larger man sits down gratefully, propping his head up on one hand and trying to ignore his snarling hunger.

The Medigun sparks in protest as Medic rummages in her tubing for a moment, flicking a lever with a hiss of steam, detaching the paneling and reaching inside.

Heavy leans forward with a look of concern. _Was it broken…?_

Medic’s eyes glint victoriously, drawing from within the depths of the Medigun an enormous sandwich and handing it across the makeshift lunchbox to Heavy.

"I _love_ this doctor!”


End file.
